


Begging

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Dominance, Established Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Orgasm Delay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:10:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1604675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There’s something at the back of Giriko's eyes, some calculation occurring that Justin’s not used to seeing in the other man’s face. 'I can tease you.'" Justin issues a challenge. Giriko accepts it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Begging

Justin loves Giriko’s shoulders.

He loves looking at them when the chainsaw is absorbed in watching television, or wandering around the apartment half-clothed, or hunched forward in aggressive irritation, but he  _really_  loves the way they look when Giriko shoves him down onto the bed, gets up over him and leans forward to rest his weight against Justin’s collarbones to hold the other in place. He doesn’t even look like he’s trying hard, like it’s barely a strain to hold Justin down so thoroughly that even his best attempts to break free would be useless. It probably ought to be frightening, ceding over all control to a legitimately unpredictable and frequently insane chainsaw. Justin’s certain fear would be the normal response for someone else, but there’s always been something not-quite-right in his blood, something that crosswires pain and danger into pleasure and thrill, and when Giriko pushes him down to the mattress and leans in over him the only thing he can do is relax under it and let his breathing speed with excitement.

They’ve both managed to lose some of their clothes; Giriko’s shirt is half-off, unbuttoned down most of the front, and Justin’s own t-shirt was abandoned on the floor somewhere en route to the bedroom. Giriko’s pants are still on but the blond’s only in boxers; this is normal too, Giriko feels the need to peel all of Justin’s clothes off as quickly as possible and Justin tends to be a little more deliberate about it. Even now, the chainsaw’s shifting his weight to spread the fingers of his hand wide and heavy against Justin’s chest, freeing his other to pull at the elastic waistband of the priest’s only remaining clothing.

“Fuck you’re pretty,” he growls, like he always does, and Justin smiles, like he always does, deliberately flutters his eyelashes and arches his back up a little higher so Giriko will push harder, force air out of his lungs in a gasp while the chainsaw drags his boxers free, comes back around to straddle Justin’s hips. “You’re a fucking little bitch, and I want to break your damn face more often than not, but you are  _pretty_.”

“Mm,” Justin hums. Giriko settles his weight over the priest’s legs, shifts his hand to Justin’s shoulder and catches at the blond’s wrists with the other. Justin’s already stretching his arms up in offer; all Giriko has to do is wrap his fingers around the other’s hands, lock his grip and lean his weight forward to pin Justin’s arms over his head. The movement pitches him forward and he leans into the angle, his mouth coming down against Justin’s neck so his teeth can scrape tantalizingly over the fragile skin.

With his mouth so close, Justin can feel the vibration of his words up under his skin as much as he can hear the actual sounds when Giriko asks, “Ain’t you gonna return the compliment?”

Justin smiles, turn his head sideways so his lips brush against Giriko’s ear. “I suppose I  _could_ ,” he says, as if considering the possibility. “But it’s so much less fun than teasing you.”

He’s expecting the tightening of the hold on his wrist, the hiss of sound as Giriko growls into his shoulder. “Fuck you, you get way too much damn pleasure out of denying me what I want.”

“I deny you  _so_  little,” Justin retorts. “Besides, one of us has to be coy sometimes or there would be no entertainment from these little interludes, and  _you_  certainly can’t manage it.” There’s a certain irony in teasing Giriko on this particular subject; Justin’s grinning about it himself, although from the way Giriko is reacting the subtleties of the situation are entirely lost on the larger man.

“You sayin’ I can’t  _tease_  you?” Giriko makes it sound like a deadly insult, as if Justin has somehow questioned his manhood by the statement. “How the  _fuck_  d’you figure that?”

Justin waits until Giriko has lifted his head to glare at him before rolling his eyes. It’s worth it, for the furious hiss he gets out of the chainsaw. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I generally maintain the upper hand until exactly when I decide to grant it to you?” He doesn’t react, this time, when Giriko’s hand shoves against his chest, although he has to gasp for air and speak quickly with the lesser volume he gets out of the breath. “Or the fact that I’m teasing you  _right now_  and you have only just noticed now because I told you.” He’s not  _entirely_  sure, but he’s fairly secure in his assumption, and when Giriko’s eyes widen for just a moment before narrowing into a glare Justin lets himself grin at the verification.

“Fuck you,” Giriko repeats, still sounding irritated but a lot less heated than Justin expected. There’s something at the back of his eyes, some calculation occurring that the blond’s not used to seeing in the other man’s face. “I can tease you.”

“Oh?” Justin infuses the word with all the condescending disbelief he can manage, which is significant. “That’ll be a new trick.”

Giriko bares his teeth but doesn’t hiss, and doesn’t growl a threat, both of which show unprecedented restraint for the chainsaw. Justin doesn’t bother to keep his eyebrows from going up at this. “You’re impressing me already, I didn’t think you had this much self-control.” He shifts his weight, ostensibly settling into the mattress but doing it with a little more arching of his back and wiggling of his hips than is strictly necessary; Giriko’s eyes flicker to the movement, the chainsaw runs his tongue quick over his lip, but he doesn’t move or let Justin’s hands go. Justin subsides into passivity again, gazing up at Giriko without fighting the weight on his wrists and hips.

“You know, teasing involves a little more than just resisting me needling you,” he points out. “Generally there’s some action involved on your part.”

“I’m aware,” Giriko says, again with that eerie calm Justin’s never seen from him before. “I’m just trying to work out my options, here. There’s so many of them, y’know.”

“I  _don’t_  know,” Justin taunts, arching up again because Giriko’s not  _touching_  him, and he’s starting to get prickling washes of anticipatory adrenaline all across his skin like  _wanting_  will drag the chainsaw’s hands there by sheer force of will. “ _Tell_  me, Giriko.”

“There’s the obvious,” Giriko says, purring over the words so Justin knows what the chainsaw is going to say before he says it. “You like getting fucked and I  _love_  fucking you, so that’s definitely high on the list.” He’s still got a grip on Justin’s wrists with one hand; the chainsaw shifts his weight to press the blond’s hands heavily into the mattress, frees his other hand so he can brush his fingertips down across Justin’s side. It’s oddly intense, to be touched so delicately when Justin’s braced for bruises and teeth, the usual pleasurable edge of pain under Giriko’s hands. He hisses, jerks like he’s flinching away when it’s the opposite, but with Giriko leaning over him he doesn’t move anywhere, and Giriko doesn’t react to his motion at all, just tips his head so he can watch the slow drag of his fingers over ribcage, waist, hip.

“But that’d be a little too simple, given that you seem to think I got no variety in my actions.” His hand cuts up and sideways suddenly, shy of the edge of Justin’s hip. Justin was expecting that feather-light touch to come down and curl around his hardening length; the sudden reversal of movement makes him hiss, creases his forehead with frustration for a moment. “Sucking you off’d be a little too easy.” Giriko leans down, below the line of Justin’s chin so the priest can’t tip his head for a kiss; instead the chainsaw’s lips land in the dip just above his collarbones, Giriko’s tongue sweeps out the space, and Justin shudders without even trying to restrain the reaction. “Though you’d like it, sure, and it’s always fun to see you go to pieces.” Giriko heaves a sigh over Justin’s skin, lifts his head. “But that’s too straightforward.”

His hand lands on Justin’s stomach, heavier now than before but not moving, staying in the ostensibly neutral zone above the blond’s waist. Of course, Justin’s body disagrees vehemently about the neutrality of this area; he’s well beyond  _going_  hard, arrived there a while ago, until the friction of the seam of Giriko’s jeans digging into him is starting to feel good instead of just taunting.

“Then there’s the more  _exciting_  stuff,” Giriko goes on. He looks up from where his hand is splayed over Justin’s skin, meets the priest’s eyes, and his eyes are so dark that Justin has to shut his eyes just to keep his breathing on this side of reasonable. Shutting his eyes does nothing to cut out the low rumble of Giriko’s voice, though; the vibration goes through his blood even before it’s made it to his brain, making him shudder before he has even processed what Giriko is suggesting. “Like that time I chained you to the ceiling. I could do that again, maybe just leave you there for a while to think things over. Or I could tie you to the bed, with rope or just chains. Maybe leave an edge on the chains, even, so you can’t struggle without tearing yourself to shreds.” His mouth comes back against Justin’s skin, lips pressing into his shoulder before a tongue sweeps hot and startling across a nipple. Justin groans, shocked into response, and arches up for more but Giriko’s already pulling back and speaking again. “What would you do if I chained you down and just left you alone? Would you wait or would you take the pain to maybe get a hand free? How  _long_  would you wait?”

Justin doesn’t dare open his eyes, but Giriko’s grinning, he can hear the amusement under the chainsaw’s words, and that hand is still flat and unmoving on his stomach. When he rocks his hips up he can grind a little against Giriko’s jeans; it would be painful in another situation, would have been painful a few minutes ago, but right now even the sharp catch of fabric on sensitive skin is better than the pointed not-contact of the strong fingers pressing into his stomach. Giriko laughs but doesn’t pull away; in contrast he leans forward, angles his hips down so Justin misses out on the heavy seam he had to start but gains the advantage of zipper and the responsive press of the chainsaw’s cock through his clothes. Justin sighs in satisfaction, starts to rock up with a rhythm, setting a pattern to the movement of his hips against Giriko’s while the chainsaw slides his thumb idly over the lower edge of the blond’s ribcage.

“Other things, too,” he goes on, remarkably calm given how hard Justin can feel he is. He’s never known Giriko to be this steady while he’s this turned on; usually arousal and heat go hand-in-hand for Giriko, anger or desire or just half-violent want coming with his interest in the situation.

Although maybe this isn’t that different after all. Justin opens his eyes, gets a good look at Giriko’s expression, and just because the chainsaw is speaking coherently doesn’t mean his eyes are cool in the least. They’re nearly black, fixed on Justin’s face like he’s gaining life from the blond’s reactions, and his mouth is curved into a smile. Justin can see the edges of his teeth, the damp on his tongue when he licks over his lower lip, and he can see the way that grin gets wider as Giriko sees Justin looking at his mouth.

He’s so caught up in watching the chainsaw’s lips it takes him a minute to realize the older man is speaking again. “I could shove you up against the wall face-first and jerk you off, really quick and hard. Or just keep you on the edge, get my fingers around the bottom of your cock until you’re crying for me to let you come, maybe that, huh?” Giriko shifts his weight, depriving Justin of the angle against his jeans, but in return he slides the hand on Justin’s stomach down an inch, offers two fingers and Justin rocks up against those, too anxious for contact to care about how desperate the movement seems.

“Or in front of the mirror in the bathroom,” Giriko goes on, still maintaining that faintly interested tone of actual consideration. Justin can’t focus on his face anymore; his whole attention is locked on shifting his hips, dragging as much sensation as he possibly can out of the minimal friction. Giriko looks down, grins, and keeps talking; the words wash into Justin’s mind like ambient sound with no real meaning following them. “Hold you up against me and jerk you off so you can see how  _fucking_  desperate you get, the way your eyes go all hazy when you want more.” His hand comes down farther, fingers tighten around Justin’s length, stroke over him once. Justin’s throat tightens into a moan that’s almost a scream, his hips come up off the bed to meet Giriko’s hold, his eyes shut...and Giriko lets him go, the grip and his fingers and even his damn jeans out of reach. Justin’s eyes snap open, he tries to sit up in protest, but Giriko’s still got his arms pinned down over his head and the chainsaw’s weight is heavy over his legs, so all his attempt does is twist him slightly over the sheets. Giriko’s grinning down at him, the expression sharp with taunting amusement, and Justin would be angry if he weren’t so desperate at the moment, so totally willing to do whatever Giriko wants him to do.

“Please, Giriko --” he starts, but the other man raises his voice to drown him own and talks over him.

“I could choke you while I’m fucking you, you like that too. Not enough to make you panic, just enough pressure that you get a little lightheaded, a little disconnected, just enough so you know I  _could_  do more if you wanted.”

“I  _do_  want more,  _please_  --”

“You’d do anything right now, wouldn’t you? I could tie your hands behind your back and lie back and you’d fuck yourself on my dick, you want it that badly.”

“ _Yes_.”

“I could touch you at  _all_  and it’s be enough, I could  _breathe_  on you and you’d just go to pieces.” Giriko’s laughing, chuckling around his sentences; his eyes keep skimming over Justin’s body, face shoulders cock, and Justin’s blood keeps rising in the wake of the other’s gaze until he’s too overheated to notice each individual flush of response, until there’s just a dull ache of  _want_  all through him.

“Fuck,  _please_  --” he starts again before Giriko cuts him off.

“What do you want, Justin,  _tell_  me,  _beg_  for it and maybe I’ll give it to you.”

“ _Anything_ ,” Justin blurts, tongue skidding with desperation. “Please, please, touch me or lick me or  _fuck_  me, just give me something more than  _nothing_.” He’s rocking up even though there’s nothing for his cock to hit, the motion of his hips forming an anxious rhythm as he speaks. “Come forward or give me your hand, you don’t have to let me go I’ll just grind myself against you, I’ll do all the work I just want  _something_.”

“Am I teasing you?” Giriko asks.

It takes a moment for Justin to place the context of the question. When he does he starts to laugh, even though it’s whining with desperation in his throat and going shaky with hysteria. “ _Yes_ , you’re teasing me, I was wrong, I was wrong,  _please_  Giriko.”

“Good boy,” Giriko purrs, and shoves his hand down so fast Justin barely has time to process the movement before the chainsaw’s fingers are gripping him. Giriko might stroke over him -- he’s not sure, can’t tell, the calluses and friction of that first contact are enough that if the chainsaw moves his hand Justin’s already gone by the time he does. All the heat under his skin flashes white-hot for a moment, his eyes stay open but go out of focus, and when he moans, it sounds like Giriko’s name without any intention behind it at all.

Giriko  _is_  stroking him when the first blinding wave of pleasure has passed, dragging his hand idly up over Justin’s length like he’s coaxing the last ripples of sensation out of the blond. It’s almost painful, the friction bleeding over into too-much instead of enough, but for a minute Justin’s can’t speak coherently to tell Giriko to stop; all he can manage is to shudder and gasp under the chainsaw’s hold.

Giriko lets him go before Justin’s regained his mental clarity, the chainsaw’s hold on the blond’s cock slipping free as he lets the priest’s wrists go as well. Justin’s arms are shaking when he moves them to reach for the front of Giriko’s jeans, but the other man is already handling his fly so all Justin has to do is push boxers aside and wrap his trembling hand around the chainsaw’s length. Giriko groans so low it’s more a feeling than a sound, grabs at Justin’s hip like he’s steadying himself, and drops his head down so his hair falls in front of his eyes and all Justin can see is his half-open mouth.

It doesn’t take long for the chainsaw, either; after all, he wasn’t getting much stimulation either, and from how rapidly he gives up any coherent speech that required more self-restraint than Justin thought he  _had_. It’s only a minute or two before he growls and closes his free hand on Justin’s wrist, jerks the blond’s hand faster than Justin can manage on his own, and from the way his shoulders tense and hunch forward Justin’s not surprised when Giriko groans and comes over the blond’s already-sticky skin.

Unusually, it’s Giriko who moves first, shifting so his weight finally comes off Justin’s legs and the priest could move again if he had the energy to do so. He doesn’t, though, so he just stays where he is, spread out sticky and breathless and exhausted over the bed, until Giriko comes back and tosses a towel at him.

“You don’t look like you’re going anywhere for a while,” he says when Justin tips his head to blink at the other man. “Thought you might want to clean up before you go back to considering dying of exhaustion.”

Justin laughs, although the sound is still shaky and tired. Giriko grins, and comes in to the bed to roughly drag a hand through the blond’s hair before he leaves Justin to shut his eyes, and catch his breath, and smile in sleepy pleasure at the ceiling.


End file.
